Air Warrior Unsung
by Jexhai
Summary: They may not be as glamorous as mythical Jedi or hotshot pilots, but the blue collar jobs of the galaxy offer their workers troubles of their own, and more than a few surprises.
1. Chapter 1

Zech Babel trudged into the main room of his small abode to his smiling, though as groggy as he, wife. He kissed her as he passed and went on to the counter, where the blue milk he picked up gurgled into its glass. He raised the canister to smell. "Eugh, that's turned." He tossed it out, and fished a less preferred (and less blue) drink from the recesses of the refrigerator. He sat down and sipped it with a bitter twinge of his mouth each time.

"Good morning," said his wife, Tani Babel.

"Morning," he said.

"Things alright at work?"

"Uh, alright, yeah. Uneventful, you know. They never fly. I wish they'd fly."

"Saves you the work, though, dear."

"I get _paid_ for the work! Saves them the money is what it does. The guys and I have, well,

discussed a strike."

"You can't afford to strike. And what could you even do? Force them to go on more missions?"

"I just as soon would! I'm going broke as it is, time to make a show of it at least."

"Well, good luck." Tani took her emptied bowl to the dishes and kissed her husband's forehead as she walked back to her room for a restful day. Zach stood up, grabbed his coat, and followed the paths and caves to his workplace at the rebel base.

"Hey, Zech! Morning, Zech! How is it, Zech!" came the various greetings of his co-workers as he walked into their office. "Good, you?" was Zech's passionless response to each, regardless how much sense it made. On autopilot, he walked to his locker, removed his uniform, put it on, and grabbed his lights.

Still on autopilot, he plopped himself into a chair, laid his lights onto the table, laxed the zippers on his uniform past regulation, and reclined back as he began to fiddle with a datapad.

"I think you might be getting a little too comfortable with routine, there," said Ref as he sat down opposite Zech.

"I think you're not comfortable enough. It's been a month since the last flight," replied Zech.

"And that's why the strike starts tomorrow! By the end of next week, we'll have daily training flights _at least_."

"Look, I'm with you. But you know to strike, the boss has to need you every once in a while to begin with?"

"Well, the rebels might not need us 24/7, but when shit hits the fan... We deserve reliable compensation for that, even if our duty is infrequent.

As Zech prepared to respond, the sirens of the base began to blare. "You're kidding me..."

A wide toothy grin spread across Ref's face. "Haha, here we go!"

"There wasn't even anything scheduled for today!"

Ref grabbed the datapad from across the table and swiped to the briefing. "Says here it's, uh, Rogue One."

"There's no such thing as Rogue One!" yelled Zech as he zipped himself back up to regulation, grabbed his lights and flicked them on, and ran next to Ref out to the launch area.

The behemoth of a fighter inched ever closer. Zech took tiny steps back. He waved both his arms rhythmically - in sync, he liked to think, with the mind of the pilot. Let the ship get so close you swear it will run you over if it gets any closer and then let it go a bit more. It was instinct. Zech raised his right hand. Take off.

It was exhilarating. He had forgotten the finesse, the skill, the refinement that the job demanded of him. Every ship he waved - as it crawled so close to him, as it trusted him with its life, as it roared overhead, its takeoff a success - was a journey. One slip, and he could end not just his life, but the pilot's. One slip, and he could end not just this pilot, but the mission. One slip, and he could end the rebellion. It was a thrill of an intensity not suited for every man. Zech had forgotten the joy of aircraft marshalling, and slipped willingly back into its embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

Almost every ship in the arsenal stored here had been launched by now. Only one X-Wing remained, and it was taking its sweet time. Zech stood around, his lights turned off, looking for any sign of movement nearby. He gestured questioningly at another air marshall across the tarmac from him. He simply shrugged.

Zech wandered what was going on. What was this surprise mission? No one had time to give him the details as they'd flown out. Maybe they were racing the Empire to a hidden artifact... Or confronting the great Darth Vader in a surprise attack! Or establishing-

The loud sputters of an X-Wing lurching closer interrupted Zech's train of thought. The engine roared and then coughed. The ship sputtered a couple feet before crescendoing into a loud, harsh screech, and then sputtered a couple feet more. Zech walked up to it and yelled as loud as he could. "What's wrong with it!?"

"Hasn't been used in a few good years," yelled back the pilot. "But they called me in to this mission and it's all I've got."

"Doesn't seem very fit for flying!"

"I know it doesn't, but what am I supposed to do!"

"You gotten any engineers or mechanics to take a look at it?"

"They've all left! They're on flight with the mission for emergency repairs!"

"Well... I suppose I could take a look at it," offered Zech. Air marshalling was not a hugely technical career, but the training for the job required a higher-than-average amount of knowledge of the ships that the rebels flew.

"Would you?" asked the pilot.

Zech climbed in on the other side of the ship and began rummaging through the machinery and parts of it. "I'm Zech, what's your name?"

"Seb. Seb Noir. Thanks for doing this."

"Anything for the alliance, Seb Noir." Zech rummaged around in the guts of the ship some more before grabbing two wires. "I think these might be the problem." He touched the ends of them together.

Whoosh. Zech was thrown to the back of the ship and Seb struggled to get a grip on the controls before the direction of the ship was completely out of his hands. The X-Wing had taken off, into the sky, into space, and into the galaxy.


	3. Chapter 3

"Holy SHIT! Holy SHIT! I'm not supposed to be on here!" screamed Zech Babel as the X-Wing that had plastered him to the wall with its lightning speed takeoff continued to accelerate further and further across the galaxy.

"No time to drop you off, Zech! You're en route to Scarif now," said Seb. He tightened his grip on the controls and thrust them forward. He smirked, and the X-Wing kicked with a bit more acceleration. "Welcome to the Rebel Alliance."

Zech peeled his body away from the wall and adjusted himself, shaking his arms back to life.

"I'm already _in_ the Rebel Alliance," he said, rolling his eyes. He hated these hotshots, always forgetting about the more humble workers that let them do their jobs. He bet Seb felt real cool when he pushed in that accelerator, like he was in some high-action holovid and the camera was focusing on his face while he gave off that catchphrase _Welcome to the Rebel Alliance_. It was just condescension, plain and simple. He'd like to see a guy like Seb Noir do his work for a day.

Besides, Zech knew the truth. If they ever _did_ make a holovid about the Rebel Alliance (he knew it was impossible, but entertained the thought), surely it would be about guys like him. Pure heroes and impossibly evil villains? It was old news. It had all been done. These were political times and the struggles of the working class, strikes and labor exploitation, those were the stories of the moment. Yes, if there ever was a holovid about these... these _star wars_ , there wouldn't be a hotshot X-Wing pilot in sight.

"I've made contact with a blockade runner," said Seb, "I'm gonna drop you there. Try and make yourself useful on it, hey?"

"Yeah, sure," Zech said, just thankful he wouldn't have to spend anymore time with Seb - or go into battle.

The X-Wing pulled into the Tantive IV. Seb opened up the ship. "You gotta go. Time's a crunch right now." He shoved Zech a bit and he spilled out onto the cold metal floor. The X-Wing took off again, dangerously close to Zech, while he held his eyes closed and tried to recover from the shake of the short fall.

He finally regained his composure and opened his eyes. As his vision came back into focus, filling it was the bottom of a flowing white gown.


End file.
